


down came the rain

by synchhrome



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Continent Arc, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:37:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchhrome/pseuds/synchhrome
Summary: There are five calamities that the humanity knows of: Hellbell, Brion, Ai, Pap and Zobae.What humanity doesn't know is that the Dark Continent has more in store for them and they aren't friendly.The run for survival startsnow.(or; kurapica wants his people to survive, kuroro wants the spider to survive and they have to work together to keep everyone alive)





	1. timer starts...now!

**08 DAYS since the Black Whale Massacre…**

He couldn't die here.

Kurapika leaned his shoulder on a tree trunk, fingers curling over the rough patch of earth beneath his palm as he tried to focus his eyes on his feet. His vision had been blurring in and out of focus. Something he couldn't afford of all things in this environment. But a good night's rest had been the furthest thing Kurapika can afford since the Black Whale docked on this blasted continent. 

He'd close his eyes for what seemed like a whole minute and Melody would be there, shaking his shoulder, apologetic and frightened. Oito would be behind her, cradling a mewling Woble. 

Kurapika couldn't let them die. 

He took the dagger out of his sheath and dragged it across a boulder across him. It made a grating sound. Loud in the quiet dawn of the forest. Kurapika dragged it back and forth, mindful of his surroundings. 

For a few seconds, Kurapika continued his disrespectful assault. The he stood. The ground beneath him seemed to sway for one dangerous second until he righted himself back and assumed his stance.

 _Woble,_ he reminded himself, _and Oito and Melody. Keep yourself together, Kurapika._

Not a second later, a masked man stepped into the clearing. It could be a woman. Or neither. Though, Kurapika wasn't too inclined to make any guesses when these people were out hunting _them._

The masked man tilted its head, reminiscent of a bird. Their eyes weren't visible behind the mask that covered their whole face. No clues from the rest of their bodies or the way they move, either. Their hunters wore unconventional clothing (which Kurapika wasn't ashamed to admit he'd used to his advantage many times when he fought them). He'd never fought two with the same style or design but always, the fabric covered every inch of skin except their hands. 

There was a generous amount of blood on this masked man's clothes. 

Dowsing chain fell from his palms and moved back and forth in the air with a light _clink._

Kurapika had no regrets putting the limitation on his Chain Jail but at this point, Kurapika's desperate enough to admit the ability would have been useful in this blasted, death continent. He didn't fancy killing but he's the only one standing before these merciless hunters and his people. He could either fight half-assed, die, and deliver his friends to their deaths or…

His eyes flashed red. The masked man froze and Kurapika launched for the kill—

If only it were that easy and quick. 

The masked man parried his Dowsing Chain with a curved sword. Their speed is way faster than the ones Kurapika had fought, annoyingly enough.

The man pulled. Hard. Kurapika let himself be pulled. He took out the dagger from its sheath and sweeped his arms for a stab. 

Blade met flesh. Splatter– red. Blood. 

Kurapika didn't dare turn his eyes back to normal. There's a cough behind the mask and the masked man lifted his hand, slow and careful. 

“You,” Kurapika startled but he gritted his teeth and _pushed._ The blade dug deeper between the man's ribs and the hand dropped. Despite the mask muffling the sounds, he heard the pained grunt and the wet, sputtering sound of slick blood. The man heaved, _“you.”_

The voice was guttural. Unfamiliar and rough around the vowels. It could be because the man was dying. But the other masked men Kurapika had fought and killed never said anything. They laid bleeding, still and quiet, as Kurapika tried to make as much little noise as possible while he made sure they _stay dead._ He never made a move to touch their masks, either. 

Kurapika cleared his throat. “Me.”

“ _You._ Red… eyes.” The man chuckled and with weak hands, he picked on a latch under his chin. With one, effortless shove to the side, the mask fell to the ground with a quiet thump. _“One of us. You… are people.”_

Red eyes stared back and it wasn't Kurapika's because there was no mirror on sight. His hands wavered around the dagger's hilt and the rough handle told him he wasn't dreaming. He's awake and red eyes were staring back at him. The face that held the familiar eyes was wrong. Unfamiliar. 

A stranger who had his clan's eyes. 

Kurapika withdrew the dagger and slammed it down between the man's eyes. Hard as he could manage with trembling hands. The man's chest rose one last time and the whole body stilled.

*** 

His nightmares had one more face to moan Kurapika's name but unlike the others, this one doesn't have empty sockets where their eyes used to rest.

Nor was there blood oozing like waterfalls down to their chin, down _down_ down to their neck, to the rest of their bodies, staining the beautiful fabric of their traditional clothes. 

This man had a blade stuck between his wide, gleaming, scarlet eyes. He painted a grotesque image as blood dripped down his face. It stained his teeth as his hands grasped on empty air as he chanted you _you_ you _you_ you _you—_

Kurapika woke up drenched in sweat and ears ringing with the whispers of dead men.

*** 

“Are you okay?”

Kurapika forced his eyes away from the dagger in his hand. Melody sat atop an abnormally huge tree root as she fidgeted with her sleeve. It's dark, but he met her gaze head on. “I am. Do you hear any of them closing in?”

She shook her head. “No one close enough.” _For now._

Which was good enough for Kurapika. His ears had been ringing for quite some time and he had no idea if it's from exhaustion or a lingering touch from his nightmares. The three of them ( _four,_ with Woble) had been moving non stop for the past few hours and with Kurapika fighting off their hunters, finding anything remotely close and familiar enough to be edible to feed on, Oito still breastfeeding, Melody straining her hearing and putting as much distance between the masked men and Kurapika's employer, the tension was palpable and started getting to them. And they couldn't let it. 

This rest was a god-sent, even if only temporary. 

“We'll find the others, Kurapika. Don't worry.”

 _Will we?_ Kurapika wanted to ask. Oito's sleeping against the root Melody's sitting on. Woble close to her chest and a tuft of dark hair was what Kurapika could make out under the low light and the cloth wrapped around the prince. They'd been out in this dangerous continent for _eight days._

Eight stupid long days since the Black Whale was sunk by a monstrous sea creature, parts washed away hundreds, if not thousands, of feet underwater with no possibility of repair. Many people ran for the shore and they painted the sand red with their blood as their bodies fell lifeless on the beach. Kurapika and his companions were almost one of those people but lucky enough to survive, past the masked men waiting for them on the shore, and escape into the forest behind. 

Those who were too weak, slow or unlucky were pursued and killed. 

Kurapika didn't know who else survived. Or if anyone else _even survived._

They were trapped. Stuck. Hounded and forced to hide in an unfamiliar environment with only their own power and skills to rely on. 

He was lucky. Him, Oito and Woble. They were lucky that Melody happened to cross their paths before getting off the ship. They managed to get the queen and the prince as far away from the massacre as they could. Fortunate enough that Melody was with them to provide enough forewarning and the sharp hearing that Kurapika lacked. 

Woble whimpered and in the quiet night, with the knowledge of their hunters’ heightened senses, Kurapika tensed. 

Several seconds passed by. 

“It's okay,” Melody started, air escaping her in a rush. “We're clear. I covered enough ground and there was nothing close by except for the other creatures that lurk. Nothing actively hunting us for now.”

“The creatures here can be just as dangerous. The masked men are from here, after all.” 

Melody shook her head and looked at him. Her eyes filled with earnestness that made Kurapika look away. “You should get your rest, Kurapika. Your heart has been restless lately.”

“They're getting faster.” Kurapika said. “Our hunters. The last I fought was faster than anyone so far. The ones who waited on the shore were far stronger than those they’re sending after us.”

“What are you thinking?”

“This is a game.” He leaned back, head thumping on the trunk. He's tired. “They think of us a game. That's why they send one person at a time. They are playing a game and we're their targets. It's unlikely they would leave us alone and hope we get killed by alien creatures in this damned forest. They'll lose their patience at some point and send someone strong enough.”

“We shall hope that we find the others before, then.” Melody whispered. Her hands, which were fiddling lightly before, clenched. “There were many people in the expedition. I heard many people entering the forest before we got in too far. We will find them, Kurapika.”

That's nice. Kurapika dearly hoped Leorio survived. They hadn't seen each other when it all went to hell. If anyone survived this, he really hoped it was his friend. 

A yawn broke through his daze. 

Melody smiled. “You should rest. I promise I'll wake you the moment someone steps into our radius.”

He should. He's useless if he couldn't even stand straight in a fight. “Wake me.”

“I will.”

Kurapika closed his eyes and hoped.


	2. be careful of spiderwebs...

**10 DAYS since the Black Whale Massacre...**

Kuroro slit the masked man's neck from behind.

He jumped away before the blood sprayed. The body fell to its knees by the time he landed a few feet away, then it slumped on the ground as blood pooled beneath it. It wouldn't do for his clothes to be soiled even further with blood when he didn't have anything to change into. 

Slitting the throat and making a mess of it was a bit petulant, Kuroro admitted. With a Benz knife, a small cut would have sufficed to kill. But there was no assurance that these masked men would fall victim to poisons. There'd been people who survived a cut from his knife and one was too many already. A slit neck, however, Kuroro has never met anyone who survived him almost cutting off their heads. 

A body dropped behind him with a dull thump. 

Kuroro turned and saw Shizuku standing over the body, glasses askew; blood splatter all over her face and she held Deme-chan with both hands. “That's the last of them, Danchou.”

Bono poked the body lying close with his feet. “The last of them for now, at least."

There were seven masked men that pursued them. 

Now, there were seven dead men that laid in the clearing. 

Kuroro nodded, satisfied. He flicked the knife to dispel it of the blood and sheathed it again.

These men had been pursuing them without rest since Kuroro and two of his Spiders had disposed of the last three masked men sent to kill them two days ago.

Hanged and bodies stabbed through tree trunks with their own weapons. Kuroro had been in a forgiving mood enough to leave them (barely) breathing. If these seven men had caught up to them within hours, they were no doubt lucky and fast enough to say their goodbyes as they look up to their fellow tribesmen's bleeding bodies. 

Though, hours of being hunted without rest and time to do his own hunting, Kuroro _was_ done being hounded. 

He didn't board that damn ship to play into other people's game. The Spiders had their own damn hunting to do. 

Blood of their fallen enemies pooled together on the ground. No matter what the masked men use to hunt, their nose or their keen hearing, they would pass through this clearing. The three of them didn't bother with subtlety while killing off these men, after all. There had been screams and the stench of blood alone was strong enough. 

His suit may not be stained with blood but the smell of death would surely stick. If their pursuers want the Spiders to play their game, they'd better be prepared to pay for it in blood. 

He picked off a direction with less greenery and went for it, avoiding the dead bodies on the ground as he walked. 

"Do you want me to clean the mess, Danchou?” Shizuku called, not bothering to either fix her glasses or to wipe the blood.

"No." Kuroro replied. "Let them see."

***

_Shall we play a game?_ said the Spider to the fly. 

_A game?_ asked the fly. _Surely you jest! You can't even fly, how are you to win a game against me?_

 _Come on closer, then._ said the Spider. _I'll tell you how._

…

The fly never stood a chance.

***

A loud croak cut off his musings as a five-eyed, blue creature crouched a few distance away. Kuroro was sure it's some form of frog mutation (or were the frogs he knew the mutated versions?) but then again, he'd never seen a blue frog with five eyes. Fives eyes that apparently blinked in succession.

It croaked again. Then lost interest in Kuroro and his companions, jumped to its left and disappeared from sight. 

“Cute.” He heard Shizuku whisper. Bono chided her not a beat later. “It's like an interactive educational trip.”

“I may not have gotten a formal education but I'm sure educational trips involve less human hunting as sport.” 

Kuroro chuckled. “It’s not a sport if their players don't even know how to play.”

The masked men were not bad fighters, if he were to compare them to other people he'd fought before. Come to think of it, the men pursuing them were increasing in their efficiency, if only slightly. Not to say they were worth worrying over for but Kuroro's getting tired of being followed and he wanted to _sleep_. And the mosquitoes in this continent had needles as tall as Kuroro's pinky if those weren't horrifying enough. 

"Do you think they're human?" Shizuku asked. 

Bono kicked a pebble and it skipped a few paces ahead. "Their bodies are humanoid enough. Although, we shouldn't assume things about these masked men, I noticed the pattern difference in the fabric of their clothing."

"There is?" Shizuku placed a finger on her chin, attempting to recall the clothing of their fallen hunters. It's futile, Kuroro mused. Shizuku's memory was not the most trustworthy, after all.

Kuroro didn't notice the patterns, either. He eyed Bono, who's fixing the bandages around his wrist. His Spider seemed nonchalant, despite pointing out an obscure detail that not even Kuroro has noticed.

"Yeah." Bono answered. "You didn't see?" Then he seemed to remember who he's asking and his lips pulled into a smile. "Yes, Shizuku. There's a pattern to their clothing. I suspected when the third group had caught up to us but… the last one confirmed my suspicions."

He knew Bono grew up in a tribe of his own. The Gyudondond. Kuroro smiled. As expected of his Spider. "Care to share it with us, Bono?"

For a second, Bono looked surprised, his eyes widening a little and his hands faltering with their motions. Kuroro wondered if he ever had asked Bono about his tribe. Or if anyone in the Spider ever did. The Spider was many things but warm, it wasn't, Kuroro admitted. Though, Shal had, for sure. 

Kuroro tilted his head, uneasy with the reminder of his fallen comrades. Try as he might to breathe, the air trapped in his lungs was too heavy and it weighed on him like a boulder, bearing down on him without ease even as he exhaled. It had been like that since he lost two of his Spiders. 

Shalnark and Koltopi shall have their deaths avenged, Kuroro promised. Hisoka's head would not leave this island and it shall be Kuroro or his Spiders to cut it off his body, bloody and messy, without the dignified death he didn't grant Shalnark and Koltopi. He would let Feitan cut Hisoka into bloody pieces and throw it to every single creature in this island to feast on and _only then_ would Kuroro take Hisoka's head. Maybe even feed it to their hunters who seemed too keen on not giving Kuroro and his Spiders time to hunt their prey.

He had many plans for Hisoka and none of them merciful. He'll suffer while he breathes and he'll die without peace, as well. Kuroro would make sure of it. 

Fury boiled at the back of his throat, and it _burned._ It never stopped burning, not once, not since the day he'd seen the crows peck on Shalnark and Koltopi's body. He could still smell the death that clung to him that day. It had been painful. To look at their disfigured bodies when only a few moments ago, they were _whole._ But he didn't allow himself to even blink. His Spiders deserved to be remembered even in death so Kuroro would not forget. He would not forget and neither will he forgive. The pain morphed into fury, and the call for blood had not rest since then. 

He'll have plenty of time to rest once Hisoka's body was torn to shreds and unrecognisable in its wretched ending. It'll be grotesque and Kuroro would rest, then. 

"Danchou?" 

Kuroro gulped. Willing the heat back to his stomach which seemed to hunger for Hisoka's blood on Kuroro's own two hands. 

_And you'll have it,_ he told himself. _Blood shed can only be paid in blood. Break a Spider's leg and one shall die a fool's death in their enemies' web._

"Yes, Bono?" He smiled, because what's not to smile about? Hisoka's going to die. Sooner, if Kuroro could dispose of their hunters quickly and he plans to get started on that right away. "You think the patterns indicate a tribal tradition?"

Bono hesitated, then he recovered and nodded. "In my tribe, one earns a hole for every successful hunt they participate in. It's a show of power and rank." Their eyes met and for one quick second, Kuroro saw a hint of vulnerability, then it's gone and replaced by pride. He ought to ask more about Bono's heritage in the future. He had neglected his Spiders in the past months. That should be amended. 

"You think their patterns represent the same, then?" Kuroro asked. Bono nodded, a bit too proud and Kuroro had to suppress a smile. "That sounds likely. What do you suppose they're going to do next?"

"The last seven they sent us have far more intricate patterns drawn to their fabric but not _nearly_ enough for it to look crowded. Danchou, I am not entirely sure of this, but don't you think it's strange how they keep sending people who are not distinctly stronger than the last ones they sent? You would think after they saw how easy for us to defeat their men, they'll wise up and send for stronger hunters." Bono crossed his arms and Kuroro recalled how the last group were faster but apparent skill otherwise, nowhere closer to Kuroro and his Spiders than the others before who hunted them. "They could just be underestimating us. Or they realize we're more trouble than what we're worth and then leave us alone after we killed many of their men."

Frankly, Kuroro thought there was something else. Something that hadn't clicked with Kuroro, yet. Leaving them alone didn't seem likely. Not when those masked men had pursued them for ten days and had never given a sign they're about to stop.

Not to mention, Kuroro hadn't figured out where exactly these masked men were coming from. Kuroro and his group had made many twists and turns after entering the forest to lose their tail. Their hunters were good. Insanely good, Kuroro could even admit in the recess of his mind. To follow them mere _hours_ after the three of them disposed of their previous hunters was almost fantastical. Although, Kuroro couldn't help but add, the three of them hadn't tried too hard in shaking their tails.

Still, something didn't seem right. Kuroro pursed his lips and he met Bono's gaze, who seemed to sense the oddity in their hunters, as well 

"I haven't figured out yet how they realize their comrades are dead and that it's time to send a new group of hunters, Danchou." The latter admitted. Kuroro thought as much. He hadn't, either. 

Shizuku hummed. "Well, they're like mutants. Maybe they have something that us normal humans don't?"

If Bono's troubled look were to go by, Kuroro would bet whatever's happening was more than just some mutation. However, unlike his Spider, Kuroro didn't have a particular interest in other tribes' traditions. If the masked men wanted to keep this game, they'll have to forgive him if his retaliation were without kindness. 

Kuroro didn't fancy other people interrupting him on his own hunt.

***

_Come closer, little fly._ said the Spider. _I'll tell you how._

…

The fly realized too late it's been caught in the Spider's web and by then, it already missed its chance to fly away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroro, finally! We shall have longer chapters from now on now that I have introduced Kuroro's POV :)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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